


Freedom, Hope, and a Vulgar Boy

by Rinbin



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Minor spoiler for Ryuji's social link, Porn with Feelings, Public Hand Jobs, Sexual Inexperience, but in the way it should've gone tbh, he got feelings but he dunno how to say em plainly it's ok, not endgame social link but about midway i think?, ryuji blushing x200, starts off canon then goes drastically uncanon, too much feeling to be smut but also there are handjobs, well one handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 14:10:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11083218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinbin/pseuds/Rinbin
Summary: AU where there's a reason for Akira's dumbass responses to Ryuji saying we make him feel free(still bitter that all we could do was be like "????" but it's fine)





	Freedom, Hope, and a Vulgar Boy

Hope was a dangerous thing. With hope came expectations, came a heightened sense of possibility, came eyes fluttered shut while dreams played on eyelids. Hope was noble but wicked; when inevitably it all fell apart, when dreams were dust and the bitter taste of bile settled on your tongue, you alone stood in the rubble. Hope was without blame. You, you had dared to hope, and you had lost.

Akira abandoned hope; or rather, hope had abandoned him. He used to believe in a sense of justice, of doing the right thing in any circumstance. He thought goodness was rewarded, that hope yielded light, but in one fell swoop he learned the truth. He has no regrets about what he did. He would hate himself more if he had stood there, watching that man pull at the woman’s shirt, push her into a car, take her further than she ever wanted to go. Even the consideration of what could’ve happened churns his stomach. No--there were no regrets, just a lesson learned about what happens to those who hope, who dream, of goodness.

He remembers the anger. The hot fire of it, how it had burned on each nerve, a dark center of spite. God, he was angry. None of it was fair. He had done what he knew was right--what he knew had to be done--and here he stood, in a courtroom, voice falling on deaf ears. That courtroom, those eyes, their words...he lost himself in there. The anger killed him like a sheet of paper on fire. At the end of the trial he was nothing but charred remains. He refused to even look his parents in the eye; they thought he was sad, regretful, but no. He had hoped they would’ve stood up for him, but no. Shipped off to a stranger for observation in the hopes the city could cure him, but no. When he arrives, all he feels is resentment.

It never shows, though, not anymore. Not after he was stripped bare of freedom, not after his hopes were crushed under the gavel. Nothing shows. He’s mastered it, proud of his composure these days, happy he doesn’t let hope touch his heart any longer.

When he meets Ryuji, everything changes.

Well, not everything, but most things. Hope is still fickle, dangerous, the ground that disappears beneath feet. But the feelings, the emotions bleed back into his heart.

It had started in the dungeon, back when everything first began. The way that Ryuji hadn’t blinked twice about the new kid, the criminal, following him to school. The way Ryuji had pushed and shoved the Shadows, made himself the distraction so that Akira could go free. There was something pure and gentle about the way he insisted to Kamoshida that no, they were not friends, and yet in the same breath urged Akira to run so at least one of them lived.

The ferocity with which loyalty and protectiveness burst from his chest made him feel alive for the first time since his trial. He didn’t know this boy, this boy didn’t know him, but this boy was going to--going to what? _Die_ for him? Ryuji’s heart, his goodness, overshadowed anything Akira had let disappear in himself. No matter how dark his own heart was, he had to protect the nobility he saw before him. A small flicker of the person he’d been when he saved the woman burst into brightness and grew into what became Arsene.

That was months ago, and things had only gotten better. Akira learned what it meant to have a support system, an actual _team_ that would follow him anywhere. He had their trust and he trusted them; the feel of this closeness was nearly euphoric. Akira sometimes wondered if he was dreaming; no matter how he’d gotten here, no matter how angry his past still made him, he had found a real family. He would pursue and protect this family more aggressively than he had done anything else in his life.

Beyond the others, beyond their unique strengths and their incredible gifts that made the team unstoppable, there was still always Ryuji. There was always the first, the only one Akira felt like didn’t have to _earn_. Ryuji had given his passion, his effort, his time, his heart to their mission before the mission even existed. Akira loved his friends dearly, but there was a special closeness he reserved for Ryuji.

Granted, he wasn’t great at _showing_ this closeness. Despite how his team made him feel alive again, so much of him still felt...gone. Not only dead, but not even there. Akira knows he has trouble communicating his feelings--he can’t shake how exhausting it was to be beaten down in the courtroom, his emotions betraying him, and now he felt so lost. He could be collected, he could be sarcastic, he could be charming and clever...but tender? Gentle? _Intimate?_ He barely knew the meaning these days. Kindness was easy when born from a sense of justice. Rawness was much, much harder.

So when Ryuji stands before him, talking about their progress with the track team, Akira zones out. Ryuji talks with such passion, animated and expressive, the complete opposite to Akira’s own nonchalance and deadpan humor. Whatever Akira wasn’t, Ryuji was--together Akira often felt they were unstoppable.

“You listenin’?” Ryuji asks him. Akira’s vision focuses back on the boy in front of him.

“Yeah, sorry, go on,” he says, giving Ryuji a nod. Ryuji smiles, but it’s like he’s smiling at something only he knows about.

“I guess bein’ free is like...it’s like how I feel when I’m talkin’ to you, man.”

The words shoot straight through Akira’s heart. He swallows dryly, nearly dizzy from the array of moments with Ryuji that come playing through his mind. Memories, all sweet memories--running through the castle together, Ryuji’s refusal to leave him behind, getting ramen together and the way Ryuji referred to it as a “bro-date” the next day, how good Ryuji looked in his metaverse outfit, Ryuji’s unembarrassed openness about his thoughts, feelings, even the ones that revealed what some would call weakness (Akira called it courage). Memories, so many memories, and how long had it been, really? How short a time and yet, standing here in the schoolyard with Ryuji looking back at him, face smiling back at him, how could it not be forever? Where had Ryuji been the other parts of Akira’s life?

 _Free._ That’s what he just said. The word gripped Akira’s mind and soul and latched there like it had always belonged. _Free._ How perfect a word. That’s what it was with Ryuji: freedom. Everything about Akira’s life was a cage. He had been handcuffed in the police car, in jail overnight, bedroom-to-courtroom only during the trial (his parents didn’t even bother to send up dinner), locked into Leblanc at night, hell, even the velvet room, which was based on his heart, was a damn prison. But Ryuji, Ryuji was the freedom he longed for. Standing here with him as he confronted his old team made Akira feel proud and protective. He felt affection. Fondness. _Attraction._

And now, Ryuji beaming in front of him, Akira feels a shimmer of hope. Ryuji was expressive but not direct, so occasionally you’d have to read between the lines. When his heart swells as Ryuji speaks, he welcomes the warmth. Such a nice change from the too-hot heat of the anger or the coolness of indifference. This boy, this vulgar boy everyone told him to stay away from, is the only thing keeping him together. The realization that he loves Ryuji--and truly, how could he not?--settles like a warm blanket on a cool night.

But hope is cruel, Akira knows, so he won’t let himself believe it. The part of him Ryuji has awoken stirs impatiently in his chest, but it is too risky. The words he wants to say, any variation of _yes, that’s exactly it, you make me feel free too_ dance on the tip of his tongue so Akira grits his teeth. The trial had took everything out of him; if he tried now, if he dared to hope that Ryuji was feeling the more Akira was, if he said how he felt and Ryuji didn’t feel the same--or worse, if Ryuji was confused, perhaps angry, and Akira ruined the safety he had found in his friend...he doubts he would ever recover. What chance did Akira really have? It was clear Ryuji was into Ann. The reward for risk would never come.

So he puts on the collected facade. He plays dumb. It’s the only thing he can do.

“I don’t get it,” he deadpans, his go-to mask to hide behind.

“Uhhh, I don’t know how else to explain,” Ryuji seems frustrated, but not angry, “I just feel...free.”

The words again send pangs throughout Akira’s heart, but he cannot risk everything and lose it all again. He won’t survive losing his best friend. He’s earned his spot as leader for his composure, for his nerves of steel under pressure. This, though, is much more terrifying than a Shadow. Than a Palace. This, this feels like the edge of something more, but that’s exactly it: an edge. And at the bottom Akira fears sharp rocks wait.

“I really don’t understand.”

Ryuji huffs, appearing more frustrated than before. Akira knows it’s because he’s acting like he doesn’t get it, that Ryuji’s frustration isn’t directed at him so much as towards the situation. It’s better than the alternative, better than having Ryuji’s face twist in disgust as Akira opens his mouth and the words come pouring out: _you are my freedom, not just the feeling of free but the entire thing itself, the only one I ever want to see at the end of the day and if I ever could, at the beginning too._

Ryuji hops from foot to foot (gingerly on the bad leg), grumbling, looking down at his hands that twist together in front of him. He pulls at his fingers, a light popping sound as he cracks his knuckles, and huffs again. He looks up at Akira, but it’s less forward as before; almost sheepish, like he’s nervous. He seems jittery. Akira’s brows furrow: _why would he be nervous?_

“Ah, fuck it,” Ryuji says, voice low like he’s speaking mostly to himself. He takes two wide steps forward towards Akira, quickly before Akira has a chance to react. His hands fly up, wrap behind Akira’s neck, and then-- _oh._

Akira is stiff at first, surprised by the sudden movement and crash of Ryuji’s lips on his own, a bit too forceful with urgency. But then, once he realizes that it’s _Ryuji_ , and he’s there, _kissing him_ , Akira practically melts into his friend. A barrage of questions hit his mind: _When? Why? How? Me?_ Questions he’s dying to know, questions he needs to know, but for now there is Ryuji and Ryuji’s lips and his fingers are moving up into Akira’s hair and hope explodes like a timebomb into Akira’s chest, lighting up all the dark corners he didn’t think he’d ever see again, filling him with warmth and desire and passion and _happy, so happy, so goddamn right and happy._

Ryuji pulls away from him with a small gasp. Their faces stay close, Ryuji’s fingers still in Akira’s hair, breath warm on his face. Akira opens his eyes and tries to look at Ryuji, but his face turns down, eyes refusing to meet Akira’s. Akira notices the blush on his cheeks, a stark contrast against the blonde hair and white tee.

“There, man,” Ryuji says, voice nearly a whisper, “That’s what I was tryna say.”

Akira grabs Ryuji’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and turns his head upwards, forcing Ryuji to meet his gaze. Ryuji looks to the side at first, afraid of meeting Akira’s eyes, but when he turns all Akira feels is warmth. He hopes he’s looking at Ryuji like Ryuji’s looking at him.

“I still don’t get it,” Akira whispers, the corners of his mouth twitching, the joy hard to contain, “Say it one more time?”

Ryuji’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and irritation until the words sink in, and with a small smile of his own he leans in again. The blush on his cheeks deepens. This time Akira’s ready for him; this time Akira welcomes him. The kiss starts off softer, more hesitant, both keenly aware of the consciousness behind this kiss. This is intentional; this is acknowledgement. Akira catches Ryuji’s bottom lip between his own where the dryness of their lips catch and stick together lightly. The softness of the kiss sends Akira’s mind reeling, desire rushing through his body like a forest fire. All at once he is ignited again.

He presses into the kiss this time, a small noise of surprise coming from Ryuji as Akira reaches around him and pulls his body into him, crashing their two bodies against each other. Closer now, Ryuji’s hands delve deeper into Akira’s hair, twisting and tugging at the soft dark locks. Akira pulls away only to come right back to Ryuji, right back to his lips that seem to hold the entire world together. He’s distantly aware they’re still in the middle of the schoolyard, and even more distant is the awareness that they may not be alone in the school, what with the track team likely still practicing close by. Before he pulls away again, Akira pulls Ryuji’s bottom lip between his teeth and bites gently; Ryuji lets out a soft moan, then gasps and shoots out of Akira’s arms, covering his mouth with both hands.

His eyes are wide with surprise, cheeks a deeper red than ever before. It makes Akira laugh, to which Ryuji’s face turns up in half-hearted anger.

“H-hey! Cut it out! I didn’t mean to!”

God, if Akira’s heart could burst, it would right now. Ryuji’s trying to look defensive and threatening, but the blush on his cheeks gives everything away. If it weren’t the blush, it’d be the way he’s looking at Akira. In what Akira assumes he believes is threatening, Ryuji actually just looks ready to devour Akira. And dammit if that isn’t what Akira wants, too.

Akira leans forward and grabs Ryuji’s hand, pulling him off the schoolyard and towards the alcove. The quickness of the action makes Ryuji stumble behind.

“Where are you takin’ me?!” Ryuji whispers, though it comes out sounding more like a shout. Ryuji’s never been good at volume control.

“Right here,” Akira says, pulling Ryuji around like a whip so he’s facing Akira. Akira then puts his hands on Ryuji’s shoulders, shoving him backward into the wall between two pop machines. It’s perfectly hidden from view; the only people that’d be able to spot them would have to actually be in the alcove, and Akira knows (hopes) they’d notice someone else in the area before someone else noticed them.

Ryuji’s expression ranges from confused to turned on to surprised as Akira follows him between the machines, pushing up against him on the wall. Akira’s on a mission now, he’s decided. The hope that fills him, the heat and fire that sears his skin is so good, so intense that he has to do something. He can’t hold it back. So many weeks, so many months of biting his tongue, of letting something go unsaid, of burying feeling after feeling. Self-control is not a word in his vocabulary any longer.

He kisses Ryuji again, this time deeply. His body is pinned between the wall and Akira, which gives Akira free range to do whatever he pleases. If Ryuji wanted to escape or run, his opportunity had passed. Of course, with the way Ryuji kisses back, it doesn’t seem he cares to flee. His lips and hands seem hungry for Akira, the way they roam over his back, his neck, through his hair again, and then down to his waist.

“Let’s see if I can’t hear that noise again,” Akira breathes, nipping at Ryuji’s lip a second time. The sound--so pure--escapes out Ryuji’s mouth once more, but this time he doesn’t react. Instead his hands find purchase in Akira’s hair and he holds him there, lips and teeth and tongue meeting in a frenzied, sinful mess. Their teeth knock every now and then, Ryuji a bit more unsure and nervous, but it doesn’t matter, not to Akira. Every touch, every feel of Ryuji on him is a new level to his high.

Akira realizes his hands have been gripping and pulling at Ryuji’s shirt, so he quickly leans away and tugs. Ryuji stiffens for a second, face unsure, but quickly relaxes to let Akira pull the shirt off. Akira had intended to go right back to what he was doing, pulling that soft moan from Ryuji’s throat like silk thread, but he pauses when he see’s Ryuji’s body. The sheen of sweat causes the light to dance off his skin like he’s glowing, each line of muscle born from dedication and determination begging for Akira’s fingertips. He’s not ripped or anything, but he’s _defined_ , and that makes Akira’s mind swim all the more. With each quick and heavy breath that Ryuji rasps out, his chest rises and falls, broad and strong and inviting. Akira wants to sleep on it, to lay his head on Ryuji’s chest for hours, but right now all he wants to do is run his tongue along Ryuji’s collarbone, see if he can’t leave a couple marks of his journey.

“Quit lookin’ at me like that,” Ryuji says, embarrassed at the way Akira’s eyes drink him in. Akira, ever the rebel, refuses to stop, just starts smirking this goofy grin that makes Ryuji’s entire body blush. “You look like Yusuke does when he sees a bowl of food,” Ryuji mumbles. Akira thinks he intends for it to come out like a casual joke, but his voice catches at the end and reveals his nerves. Akira’s heart softens; this is uncharted territory for Ryuji. To be fair, it’s not well-charted territory for Akira either, but the inexperience in Ryuji’s kisses speak for his past. They’ll get there, they’ll talk about it all later, but for now Akira feels too hot to do anything but attack Ryuji again.

This time his hands roam over Ryuji’s skin, goosebumps following Akira’s fingers as he traces every part of Ryuji’s chest. Ryuji leans his head back against the wall, eyes closed and mouth agape, breathing loudly as Akira’s hands roam over the vulgar boy. This movement exposes his neck, tendons jutting out in that damn definition of body that’s driving Akira crazy. He doesn’t think twice; he leans down and immediately bites at Ryuji’s pulse, the faint taste of sweat on his tongue.

“Sh-shit,” Ryuji breathes, head rolling to the side to give Akira better access. “In public? Ain’t ya worried someone will see us?”

Akira’s hands slide down Ryuji’s chest and around to his back, the only answer Ryuji needs, where he grips Ryuji’s ass and snaps his hips into him. Their hips press against each other, the firm feeling of each other through their pants causing them to both let out a groan.

“Damn, dude,” Ryuji chuckles, hand winding back into Akira’s hair. He tugs on it, pulling Akira away from his neck, which causes Akira’s jaw to drop in a breathy gasp. He had forgotten how much he liked his hair pulled. Ryuji brings Akira back to his face, where his eyes set Akira ablaze for what feels like the hundredth time. Ryuji’s eyelids are heavy with lust, his whole body heaving as he tries to slow his breathing. He can’t, Akira knows he can’t, knows they’ve gone far beyond the point of return. This was happening; this _is_ happening. Though he had known for a while, Akira becomes acutely aware of how hard he actually is. He presses his thumbs into Ryuji’s hipbones, visible just over his shorts.

Gym shorts leave very little to the imagination, but Akira didn’t have time to waste on imagining. He rolls his body forward, again pressing his crotch against Ryuji’s. Ryuji holds Akira head still, but his eyes squeeze shut.

“Seriously,” he groans softly, “What are you doin’?”

It’s a question that doesn’t need words to be answered. Akira knows this, can feel the desire radiating off of Ryuji’s body mixed with the restraint he holds against himself. Akira will have to make the first move this time. Going for the kiss was the extent of Ryuji’s boldness; the rest was left to Akira.

He keeps rolling his hips into Ryuji, gaze set on Ryuji’s face. It twists into pleasure: biting an already swollen lip, jaw going slack, breathes jagged, eyebrows furrowing as Akira does a particularly long roll into Ryuji’s body. Akira could watch this show forever, hopes that perhaps he gets the chance, again filled with light and heat from this, all of this, with Ryuji. If he went blind right now, he was glad to have at least seen Ryuji’s fall into heated despair, need beginning to infect his hands.

Ryuji’s hands were everywhere and everything, pulling at anything they could find. They tugged at Akira’s shirt, his hair, fingernails raking down his neck. He snaked his hands under Akira’s shirt and found greater purchase there, drawing lines into the skin on Akira’s back. Akira shuddered under his hands, eyelids fluttering closed as he indulged himself in the feel of Ryuji’s body flush against him, their mutual hardness meeting again and again and again.

“Akira,” Ryuji moans, and the sound goes straight to Akira’s dick, making it even harder than before. Ryuji doesn’t say his name very often, so hearing it like _that_...Akira wouldn’t mind if he went deaf now, too. “Do somethin’, somethin’ more,” he gasps, “I need more.” It comes out like a whine and Akira smiles, too pleased to be the source of such desperation. Ryuji blushes furiously at the request, keeps his eyes closed so he doesn’t have to see Akira’s reaction.

His hands are wild now, pulling at fabric and skin and tearing into fabric and skin in all the beautiful ways a person mindless with lust can do.

“As you wish,” Akira peppers kisses along Ryuji’s neck as he slides his hand under Ryuji’s waistband, finding his cock and wrapping his fingers around it slowly. Akira’s only done this once before to someone else, just before his sentencing. He thinks he did to spite his parents in some weird, roundabout way, but he found himself enjoying it. Now, with Ryuji, with all their history between them, this feels _so. much. better._

Ryuji sucks in a breath, eyes again squeezing shut in pleasure. “Never-- _ah_ \--never done t-this before,” he says, gritting his teeth as Akira gives him a light squeeze. Ryuji’s hips can’t stop themselves: he presses them forward, willing Akira’s hand to move.

“That’s okay,” Akira says, bringing his face back to Ryuji’s where he places a chaste kiss on the corner of Ryuji’s open mouth. “I got you.”

“I mean, I never did-- _mmm_ \--did this with-” he whines suddenly, Akira’s hand stroking him once, long and slow, “ _Jesus,_ Akira. Never did this with anyone at all. You’re ah, you’re my first experience.” Ryuji’s face softens a bit as he smiles, eyes lazily opening to look him in the eye. Akira grins back.

“Let’s make it a good one, shall we?” he pumps a little faster, causing Ryuji’s body to snap rigidly.

 _“Je-sus!”_ Ryuji groans, hands stopping to sink he nails into Akira’s shoulders. Akira’s half-notices the way Ryuji avoids touching Akira’s hips or anywhere near them. _We’ll work up to it_ , Akira thinks, happy to be the one to ruin Ryuji first.

“Felt weird at first,” Ryuji says, still looking at Akira. Akira’s turned his attention now to his hand in Ryuji’s shorts, the movement somewhat awkward and constrained. He thinks for a second, then wordlessly reaches with his other hand and tugs his shorts down one side at a time to the top of his thighs. The air is cool on Akira’s hand, and the way Ryuji breathes in sharply tells him it’s cool on his cock too. Akira has half a mind to warm it up with his mouth, but he stops himself. _We’ll work up to it._

“Likin’ a dude,” Ryuji continues, “Didn’t think I-- _shit_ \--swung that way, but you’re so goddamn _pretty,_ ” he clenches his jaw, “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Akira chuckles and twists his wrist, now staring at the way Ryuji’s body reacts to his deft hands. The bead of precum on the tip of his cock looks downright sinful; Akira uses his thumb to spread it across the head, which causes Ryuji to literally whimper. Akira’s hand immediately goes to himself through his shorts; after a noise like that, he needed _some_ thing. He palms himself, noticing that Ryuji’s now slumped against the wall, Akira standing over him still pumping Ryuji’s cock up and down, up and down, up and--” _Goddammit_ ,” Ryuji moans again.

“Kept tryin’ to think of-- _ah, mmhmm_ \--ways to uh, tell you, but never came out right,” Ryuji keeps talking, rambling, mind melted by his desire, “So I ju-” Akira rolls his eyes then presses a kiss to Ryuji’s mouth, cutting him off.

“Ryuji,” he says, lips still against Ryuji’s, “ _Shut. Up._ ”

Ryuji’s eyes roll back and his whole body shivers.

“Y-yeah, man, that’s good too,” he says, “I’ll shut up n- _fuck, okay okay, fuck,_ ” he says through gritted teeth as Akira starts pumping faster, more reckless.

Suddenly a thought occurs to Ryuji; his eyes shoot open and he looks at Akira, concerned. “What about you?” he asks, softly, gently. Akira gestures to his own hand inside his shorts. He laughs lightly.

“Right now I’m just getting off to the sound of,” he twists his wrist like before, and Ryuji practically unravels befores him, falling apart in a mess of moans, _“that.”_ Akira’s hand moves faster in his shorts, the touch of his hand familiar and patterned. He knew what it took for himself; the fun part was figuring out what it took for Ryuji. It takes just a few more strokes before Ryuji reaches and grips Akira’s wrist tightly.

“I-I’m,” he begins, hips stuttering into Akira’s first, teeth biting his lip so hard Akira is sure it’ll be too swollen for him to talk tomorrow, “Akira,” he says, so goddamn _tenderly_ that Akira groans. It starts a chain reaction in Ryuji, who hears the groan and sucks in a breath, voice squeaking into whine as his hips lose rhythm and he comes, body releasing his pent-up frustration, attraction, and desire for Akira. It coats Akira’s hand, one shot glancing him across his shirt. The perfect scene before him causes Akira to come too, darkening the front of his shorts with a low growl.

Akira strokes Ryuji twice more before letting him go, gently pulling his shorts back over his hips. Ryuji, spent, slides the rest of the way down. Akira pulls his own shirt off, wiping his hand with it, before tossing it into the trash can nearby. He grabs his zip jacket to replace the tee. Ryuji watches all of this lazily, small smile on his mouth.

“‘N the shorts?” he says, voice sleepy.

Akira’s face drops. “Well,” he says, then laughs, “Shit.”

Ryuji chuckles once, “S’okay dude, I got an extra pair of shorts in my locker. We can get ‘em in a sec, I need a minute.”

Akira settles on the ground beside him, shoulders touching together. He nudges his friend, who simply hums in reply. The hope that had filled him, had turned him so bright, now turns a sick shade. What if this wasn’t real? What if Ryuji wasn’t…

He turns to look at his friend, face so at peace like he’s asleep, and Akira decides it couldn’t be. Ryuji would never do that to him; would never fake something like this. As if on cue, Ryuji’s head falls onto Akira’s shoulder and he sighs.

“That was...uh...fun?” Ryuji tries. A blush creeps up his neck and blooms on his cheeks. Akira laughs.

“ _Fun?_ All of that and all I get is ‘fun’?”

“Ugh, I’m not good with words, dude, you know that. I just mean…” he sits up and rubs the back of his neck, searching for words.

“Yeah, me too.”

Ryuji shoots him a thankful glance, then sighs and looks down at his hands. A shiver runs through his body, causing Akira to search around for his shirt. When he finds it, he hands it to Ryuji, who blushes and quickly puts it back on.

“What does this mean now?” he says, voice so low Akira almost doesn’t hear him. He still refuses to meet Akira’s gaze. Akira shrugs.

“It means whatever you want it too. I’m here for you, I’m always going to be here for you, I just happen to like kissing you too.”

“C’mon dude,” Ryuji shoves his friend, but Akira can tell Ryuji’s pleased, the blush on his cheeks somehow deepening, “I mean, I’m always gonna be there for ya too, and uh...yeah, kissin’ you is nice, but..” his face scrunches in mock-disgust, “...not to be a chick or anythin’ but what are we now?”

Akira laughs, then slings his arm around Ryuji. He pulls his friend into him, pressing his face into the top of his head. In the back of his mind he notices how nice Ryuji smells.

“We’re just bros bein’ dudes,” Akira says, his tone of voice a clear mocking of Ryuji. Ryuji lightly punches Akira in the gut.

“Ugh, shuddup.”

They sit there like that for a moment, just leaning on each other, the glow of what had transpired between them coloring everything in a bright haze. Akira feels like a new person, like a second part of him, has been awoken. If his anger at injustice was the first mask he ripped off, then this tenderness for intimacy is the second. He knows it’s no coincidence that Ryuji was the catalyst for both.

Hope is always going to a fickle thing, Akira decides. Hope is always a risk, an unsafe bet, a blindfold over your eyes as you walk through an unfamiliar place. But hope is beautiful, too, in the way that you can hold it in your heart, that you can dare to dream of something better, and if something better doesn’t happen? Hope gives you the opportunity to make it happen. Ryuji had dared to hope, had the courage to trust that maybe Akira would return the kiss, that maybe instead of ruining everything it would make everything shine. Ryuji was the bravest person Akira knew. Ryuji would never say so, probably thinks Akira is the brave one, but Akira knows better.

He looks down at the mess of the blonde hair that rests now on his shoulders. Akira lets himself hope he has endless days with this vulgar boy ahead of him, a stretch of time before them that no longer seems overwhelming or uncertain or worthless. No, with Ryuji, it all glows a bright shade of yellow.

**Author's Note:**

> Needed a warm-up for my next chapter in MMT so here this is! Haven't written anything smut-like in a while so I had to mess around with it, figure out what needs improvement, but figured I'd post this all the same! Unbeta'd so sorry for any glaring mistakes. Love my two boys who are bein' dudes. 
> 
> goodestboyryuji on tumblr if you ever want to chat!


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